Temple of the Traveler: Book 01 - Doors to Eternity

by Scott Rhine

  The room was silent again for a moment as each man considered what the news meant to his faction and how best to cover for recent, tactical errors, for both magical and aristocratic power were based on very strict adherence to certain laws. The soldier who’d made the demand was the next to bow before her. “Forgive me, milady. It was necessary. For the contract all of us signed was to the blood of Kragen, and not just the man. A moment ago, we thought ourselves free men. Now we are bound to the boy child by our word of honor. Long live the House of Kragen.”

  "29"ight="0" width="29">Biting each word with monumental effort that made the room chill, she said, “Chamberlain, there is much for us to discuss… alone.” The head administrator tended to be chauvinistic and territorial, but he was relentless when it came to the good of the House. If Humi faced him first and won, he would help fight her battles with the others. He would also be the hardest to intimidate.

  “Indeed,” said the steward. He had ideas of his own about how the House would be managed in this time of crisis, and planned to bend the girl to his will. “Honor the widow’s wishes. Please leave us while we put the lord’s affairs in order. Until then, continue with your duties as before.”

  All of those from outside the house filed out under the pall of a respectful and stunned silence. As one of the door guards put his shoulder under Morlan in order to lift him, Humi asked, “He took a blow meant for my lord?”

  The door guard nodded. “His partner was crushed by falling stone. The assassins planted a dagger in Morlan’s throat and left him for dead. He would have perished if one of the wall sergeants hadn’t risked the magic storm to bandage him. As it is, the surgeons say he’ll never speak again.”

  The steward chimed in, hoping to rub some of the heroism off on himself. “What little we know firsthand of the battle in the courtyard comes from what the good Morlan has written down for us.”

  “And what do we know?” she asked, on the verge of breaking. “Who was responsible for the assassins?”

  The steward gestured for the bodyguard to be taken away. Humi halted the action with her open hand. “Morlan stays. He shall be my personal bodyguard once he has recovered. Until then, I shall oversee his nursing myself. He is the only one in this nest of vipers I can trust.” She took a mental note to summon her rowers for protection, avoiding military alliances of any kind until she learned the lay of the land.

  The bodyguard’s eyes took on a look of minor surprise, then gratitude. The steward wished to take control of this girl and wanted no witnesses. “Your ladyship, we shall be discussing matters of the utmost delicacy. It would not be prudent.”

  The mask remained firm. She was already beginning to look regal in her defiance. “This man probably overheard the conception of the heir himself. What can you know about me or my husband that’s more private than that? Besides, as the doorkeeper already pointed out, Morlan is guaranteed never to speak of what transpires here.” With a heavy sigh, the steward allowed the injured man to be placed on the divan, and waved the doorkeeper out. “Now, report,” Humi demanded.

  “Milady, the investigation is still on going. Our best mages are attempting to reconstruct the scene with utmost skill and patience,” the steward began.

  “Who were the assassins? Surely they left dead behind.”

  Cautiously, the steward answered, “They were from the Executioner’s Guild. In their haste, they left one of their Honors behind at our front gate. But in their brazenness, they took one of ours to replace it.”

  She closed her eyes and trembled. “Who hired them?”

  “There were no enemy survivors to question, milady.” She glanced at the bodyguard for confirmation. Morlan was glaring at the steward in contempt. “But there were several reports that their charge through our open gates was lead by a sherff.”

  Humi drew an involuntary breath. “A gate opened from the inside means treason. Who was the traitor?”

  “It’s not conclusive,” he stalled. The lady could smell lies and incompetence, and was merciless with both. “But some evidence points to Tumberlin.”

  The bodyguard rolled his eyes.

  “What evidence might that be?” Humi asked with deceptive calm and sweetness.

  “At first we thought it was an invasion by a rival lord or king, but there were too few attackers. They had to expect help from inside our walls.” The steward listed points on his fingertips. “Tumberlin arranged to be in charge of the front gate at dawn. The fire mage was sabotaged. The ropes to the drawbridge were cut. Tumberlin fled his post in order to call down destruction on the men loyal to our cause. He then challenged Lord Kragen to a magical duel. When the coward proved unable to win the duel, his assassins murdered our lord from behind.”

  “Where is the coward Tumberlin now?” she snapped, her fury building and her hands shaping into claws that would rend flesh.

  “He still lives. But don’t worry, he didn’t escape,” the steward said, trying to soothe her.

  “This implies that someone did escape,” the Lady of the Deep accused.

  “Three or four assassins. We’re not sure yet,” he confessed, somewhat meekly, embarrassed by how little he knew about the plot.

  “They just walked off an island warded by spirits through scores of soldiers and seven of the best wizards in the world, and you’re not sure how?” she pressed.

  “Well, the sick ki mage died when the fire wizard’s tower collapsed, and the dwarf left in the confusion. You already know about the lord and his apprentice. That only leaves the cousins, and they have been challenging our contract at every turn.”

  “Did the dwarf join forces with the traitor?”

  The steward was quick to shake his head. “Unlikely. The artificer was the one who bound Tumberlin’s body in leaden wire. He also left his council proxy for us, as well as a third parting gift. Besides, we believe that the villains may have escaped on the second-shift longboat, whereas the dwarf detests water,” the steward announced, hoping for some sign of approval.

  “Find that boat. Send the first-shift craft down the coast toward the Brotherhood stronghold. Contact our men in all neighboring counties, legitimate and otherwise. We’ll catch these men if it costs everything in our treasury,” she vowed.

  The steward looked hesitant, and the bodyguard glanced away in shame. “Since you broach the subject, we seem to be having a slight problem exercising the proper authority without the lord’s signet ring.”

  “It’s on his lordship’s right hand, as always. Have you lost his lordship’s body?” she asked, her voice lowering ominously.

  “No milady, merely his finger.”

  Humi screamed in outrage and threw a bronze plate across the room to shatter a vase.

  The steward crept to partial cover behind a sofa. “But we d="0"nd his head. It was a short distance off. Perhaps we’ll find the ring when we have all parties cooperating in the search.”

  “Take me to him!” she shouted.

  “My lady, be reasonable. A woman in your condition should not subject herself to such unhealthy stresses.”

  This minor contest of wills would be the fulcrum of their relationship. Whoever prevailed here would hold the upper hand until the boy reached maturity. “Chamberlain, in the artificer’s absence, I hold his proxy as well as that of my child. I’m sure we can convince Tumberlin to sign his over to me as well. That will give me the majority among the five remaining members of the sept.” Humi paused to give the ramifications time to filter through the steward’s convoluted mind. “My demands will be few. You govern the household more effectively than I ever could. I promise not to interfere in your daily concerns except in one small regard. You will obey me without question in any matter touching the death of my husband.” Her voice was steel pressed against his chest. The steward could not breathe as she spoke in pleasant, measured tones. “I will use my votes to provide any authority you need. But my terms are not subject to negotiation. Take me to my beloved now.”

  The steward b
linked, unsure. “This is highly irregular. The sept is a complex body governed by equals. They won’t take this lightly.”

  “One…”

  “The body has been through a lot. It isn’t attractive.”

  “Two…”

  “He’s in the courtyard. The guard outside will escort you, Lady Kragen. Guard!” bellowed the panicked steward.

  The investigators all stopped and moved out of the Mandala when Humi arrived. After she surveyed the ruins in the courtyard, the destruction of the project that the sept had devoted so many years to, her rage crystallized into a weapon. “Steward, I want you to gather two hundred and ten gold sovereigns, thirty from each treasury. Take the missing members’ portion from Tumberlin’s funds.”

  When they heard the distinctive amount, all those around began to murmur. The steward didn’t dare attempt to sway her in public; however, his eyes begged her not to continue. “Then deliver the money to the nearest royal registrar. The House of Kragen is declaring open blood feud on the Brotherhood of Executioners. There is to be no delay. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, milady,” the steward whispered.

  “Have my lord’s remains placed on a raft and ready him for the ceremonial release into the Inner Sea,” she commanded. Someone started to object and she turned on them. “What’s the matter? You haven’t figured out yet what killed him? They cut off his head! Unless you want the same treatment, you will have his body ready before the sun sets. He will have a proper funeral.” Servants moved to obey even before she turned to give the next order.

  Later it would be noted, but not remarked upon, that the lord had all his fingers for the ceremony. Yet, another finger of the same size and coloration was discovered by the wharf the next morning, this one with an indentation where a ring might have once gone. No one asked about the donor for the ceremony. The lady’s wrath had been averted.

  Next, she whispered to the steward, “Now what was the other gift you were talking about?”

  The steward led her to where Tumberlin hung upside-down from the roof eaves, gagged and trussed like a game bird. An odd piece of jewelry dangled from a nearby torch sconce. “The wizards say it’s a spirit stone that Lord Kragen made to subdue his apprentice. It controls his life force. The dwarf turned it into an amulet and placed a protective casing around the imprint. The ki mages won’t touch it because Kragen never showed anyone else how to control man spirits. In spite of everything, the dwarf does beautiful work,” he said admiringly.

  Humi smiled for the first time since sunrise. “Yes, a true craftsman. And don’t worry. Kragen told one person the secret, or at least where he kept it written down. Tumberlin and I are going to have a lot of fun this afternoon. He always said he wanted to get to know me better.”

  The steward bowed and left immediately.

  Chapter 16 – House of the Dead

  Tashi followed the dwarf into the maze of crypts beneath the Halls of Remembrance. Had his faculties been more intact, the sheriff would never have followed so recent an enemy into the underworld. Soon after they descended into the basement, things began to go wrong. The first thing Tashi noticed upon entering was the centuries of incense smoke that coated the walls in an attempt to mask the stench of corruption. Smell was a powerful trigger for memory, but none of his memories were clear. Vague images and feelings many layers deep struggled to surface.

  The passages were not straight, but twisted around every axis. It seemed that leagues of such tunnels wove under the island, far more than the physical space above ground could have accommodated. The realm was not intended for traveling through, but for storing things where they would never be seen again. The warren of tunnels had no obvious rhyme or reason, having evolved organically over the centuries. Tashi would’ve been lost if it weren’t for the light from the miner’s helmet he wore that enabled him to keep the artificer in sight. The helmet had a small flame of some kind, focused by a mirrored back and lens arrangement that lit four paces in any direction he looked.

  Weaving as he walked, Tashi lost his footing on a steep slope and slid to the bottom. His light went out and he stared at the black vault overhead, unmoving. A familiar stone slab pressed against his back. This was a ceremonial chamber known as the House of the Dead. All Houses of the Dead were the same on some level deeper than mere architecture or tradition. Left to his own, he would have drifted off, becoming a permanent resident. The dwarf returned to his side. The artisan looked at him with sympathy. “I know you’re weary, but you can’t rest yet.”

  A seizure wracked Tashi.

  The last time he’d been in the House of the Dead was after his head wound. Nobody had believed he’d survive. The peasants who’d left him at the gates thought him gone already. He lay in this hazy limbo for ages. Nobody believed in Tashi until the teacher with the wild hair and even wilder eyes. “Are you going to just lay there and join your ancestors, or do you want to make a difference?”

  The dwarf shared a bit of his fire, relit Tashi’s candle, and began to hum.

  This tune blended with the memory-dream where Jotham, his teacher, had begun the tattoos and the singing. e teacher had a miraculous voice, the strength and experience of an adult with the penetrating innocence of a child. There’d been many injuries, years ago. Herbs, smoke, and salve were applied with the splints and bandages. Freeing had allowed his body to devote full energy to repairing itself naturally. But his new rate of healing was anything but natural. He could eat the day after the teacher had performed that ceremony. Within three short weeks he could stand with assistance. Full use of his limbs took the rest of the year and vigorous exercise. It had only been possible by focusing on his training, the lessons given to him by the teacher. More than his body, the peace of the rituals calmed the confusion and struggles of his mind.

  Performing the kata called “lotus rising”, Tashi arose in the present House of the Dead. The dwarf had disappeared. Making his way in a daze like a sleepwalker, Tashi wandered through the twists and turns by the dim light of his borrowed flame. Eventually, fresh air washed in on him, and he sensed faint light above. Staring at a pale, cramped staircase leading upward, he shook himself awake. With no other option, the sheriff climbed silently into the night air.

  Nigel the actor was roasting a scrawny rabbit over his small fire. He was startled to see the dark figure standing on the rock above him.

  “Why are you here?” asked Tashi, sounding as formal as the giant had been.

  Oddly calmed by the formality, the traveling actor said, “Waiting for you, I suppose. Have a seat by my fire and share my poor hospitality. What are the stakes this time, old friend?”

  The newest abbot tilted his head. “We do not recognize thee, but accept thy offer of hospitality given freely.”

  Nigel jumped upright and staggered back. He crouched, holding out his eating dagger. “You’re not him!”

  Again, Tashi tilted his head. “But you’ve already offered. I find myself hungry and in need. Your teachers trained you better than this,” he chided. Tashi knew somehow that this man had received temple training. The way he packed his gear and pitched a tent marked the traveling man as a bard as surely as tattoos would have. Bards had carried news from town to town, served as town criers, and scribed letters. Once welcomed by all, bards were now frowned upon by regional priests as “purveyors of the unwholesome” and often imprisoned by local kings as potential spies.

  “I’ll do anything you ask, just leave me be!” the old actor shrieked, his knife hand trembling.

  Tashi’s borrowed sword remained in its sheath as he crossed his arms over his midsection. “Where can I find the Answer?”

  “What?” From his reaction, Nigel knew nothing about the legend the sheriff was seeking.

  Tashi sighed, “Then, as your service, you will assist me till we reach the next Temple of the Traveler. But because you have already tried to renege on one vow, you must swear by the One Sword.”

  Pale, mouth agape, Nigel dropped his weapon. “How did y
ou know?”

  “Swear!” Tashi demanded.

  Weary, the actor murmured, “I swear by the Sword of Fire that cuts both metal and stone.”

  “And by the one who placed it there.”

  Glassy-eyed and overwhelmed, Nigel whispered, “Yes, by all that. It was such a long time ago. I thought I’d be safe.”

  Tashi sat down and began eating from the actor’s dried rations without comment.

  ****

  After several uncomfortable minutes and the sharing of his watered wine, Nigel’s nerves were calm enough to attempt further negotiation with this threat. “Your clothing marks you as an executioner.”

  The newcomer spat, “I’m a sheriff, not a killer.”

  Nigel was amused. To his mind, the distinction was rather like a prostitute objecting to the term “whore”. “By the symbol on your chest, you have murdered at least ten men for the guild.”

  Tashi stopped eating, his face frozen. When the swordsman said nothing further to defend himself, Nigel pressed on. “Then you are both, which doesn’t surprise me. But because you denied it, you are a liar, too, by extension.” The actor smiled, feeling more in control of the situation. Liars and criminals he could deal with, for human frailties always gave him room to bargain.

  “I do not lie,” Tashi said proudly, gripping the hilt of the Kragen sword.

  Nigel refused to be intimidated by the tacit threat; he knew the rules of hospitality. This self-proclaimed sheriff could never draw steel against a host who had provided food, shelter, and a boon. “Come off of it! Your sect never felt itself bound by the same laws as the rest of us. Whenever something illegal happened on the road, half the time a sheriff or an Imperial was involved. If you can’t admit that you break as many laws as the people you kill then you’re a hypocrite as well!”